Chicken Box
by LaylaBinx
Summary: Wee-chesters! Sammy gets the Chicken Pox and Dean has to take care of him. Sick Sam/ Big brother Dean :D Hope you like it! sam-5, Dean-9
1. Childhood Epidemic

**Yay!! I'm so sorry, I know I should be working on Freshman but this idea popped into my head and refuses to leave me alone O.o It was originally intended to be a one shot but I decided to make it a bit longer so it wasn't so choppy. :D**

**Okay, a few quick notes!! 1) I know chicken pox usually hits between 5-10 years old but I made it so that Dean got it when he was four just so it would fit a little easier and he wouldn't have to worry about catching it from Sam. 2) I'm kind of guessing on the ages. Some kids start Kindergarten at five and other start at six so I'm just estimating. Also, Dean's supposed to be nine so I'm putting him in fourth grade for now. If that's wrong just let me know, okay?? 3) I made John a little OOC in this chapter but hopefull its not oo bad. Hope you all enjoy!!!**

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Dean sighed slowly, tapping the eraser of his pencil against his teeth absently. His teacher, Mrs. Fuller, continued to explain the proper steps for division near at the front of the classroom, drawing a few pictures here and there on the dry erase board as she did. Dean looked back at his workbook, sketching another picture along the edges of the word problems and outlining the shapes in pen. Around him, the other children were doing similar activities, their attention long since detached from basic division. In fact, he was pretty sure the boy next to him had fallen asleep.

Dean sighed again and slumped back against his chair, looking up at the clock behind Mrs. Fuller. It was 10:35, far too early to count down until the end of the day. The word problems in his workbook were already completed, the correct numbers carefully placed in the empty spaces between the words. He'd gone over division in his previous fourth grade class and it seemed like it hadn't changed all that much in the past month or so since they'd moved. Dean knew the real reason their father always enrolled them in school in every now town they moved to was because it provided free baby-sitting for a few hours of the day. Besides, when their dad was off fighting monsters, he needed somewhere safe to keep his boys and an unfamiliar hotel room didn't really appeal to that idea.

Dean looked back down at his paper and began sketching a picture of his father in a cape fighting a half-vampire, half-werewolf looking creature. He was old enough to know that the things that went bump in the night were real but he had never actually seen any of the creatures his father hunter. Sammy was still to young to understand so he just told him their dad was a superhero like Superman or Spiderman and that he made sure the bad guys couldn't win. Unfortunately, Dean knew that wasn't true. He knew that something had killed their mom when he was little and Sammy was just a baby but he didn't know what. His father did though and it was because of monsters like that that they moved around so much.

There was a soft knock at the door and Mrs. Fuller paused in the middle of her lecture, walking over to it. She was handed a small slip of paper by an older student and then closed the door, looking over the note briefly. "Dean." She said, her voice pulling the boy out of his day dreams.

"Yes?"

She held the note up in her hand and nodded for him to come to the front. "Your brother is sick. He's in the nurse's office."

Dean hesitated for a second, not sure whether or not he was supposed to actually go to the nurse's office or if the teacher was just informing him. When Mrs. Fuller nodded again for him to come to the front, he dropped his work book and pencils into his back pack and stood, tossing it onto his shoulders. He walked up to the front and took the slip from her, glancing back at the classroom briefly before he disappeared into the hall.

**OOOOO**

The hallways were quiet this time of day; most of the students in the elementary school were already in the classrooms. Dean walked down the hall silently, his shoes squeaking on the freshly waxed linoleum. The nurse's office was a few doors away from the front desk so it was easy enough to find. Little cartoon figures of a nurse with band-aids and thermometers surrounding her lined the door, a small, handwritten name tag reading Nurse Shultz stuck right beneath the figure. Dean opened the door slowly and stepped inside.

The room was small, blue plastic chairs lining the walls on either side of a large wooden desk. One boy sat in a chair opposite from the door, a bag of ice pressed over his knee, and a girl about Dean's age was washing her hands in the sink a few feet away. Posters with diagrams of the human body lined the walls, along with a food pyramid and a list of emergency numbers. An older woman with a round face looked up at him as he entered and smiled warmly.

"Hello," She said, pushing aside the stack of papers she'd been working on. "What can I do for you?"

Dean handed her the slip of paper and watched as she read over it. "My brother's sick." He explained even though the nurse was probably the one who had written the note in the first place.

She smiled softly and nodded. "Yes, he has the chicken pox I'm afraid. Bit of an epidemic among the younger ones." She smiled and stood, tucking the paper in her pocket. "I've already notified your father so he should be here soon." She said, leading him behind the desk to a closed door. "He's right back here."

Sam sat in the middle of a blue examining table, his legs drawn up to his chest. His face and neck were covered in tiny red spots which trailed beneath his shirt and managed to appear on the backs of his hands. He looked up as the door was opened and immediately began to cry when he saw his older brother.

Dean blinked, somewhat taken aback by his little brother's outburst, and walked over to sit next to him. "Sammy, what's wrong?" He asked, sliding onto the table beside him.

Sam sniffed, tears streaming down his red-spotted face. "The nurse said I can't be around the other kids…" He hiccupped, apparently having cried earlier as well. "Did I do something wrong?"

Dean shook his head and smiled. "No, Sam. You didn't do anything wrong. You have the chicken pox and they don't want you to give it to the other kids."

The younger boy thought for a second, his hair falling across his hazel eyes. "What's the chicken box?"

"It means your sick."

This was apparently the wrong word to say because Sam immediately began to sob, his little shoulders shaking with the force.

"Whoa, Sammy!" Dean exclaimed, watching as his little brother completely broke down. "What's wrong?"

"When people get sick they die!! I don't want the chicken box!!" The five year old wailed, covering his eyes with his hands.

"Pox, Sammy. Chicken Pox."

"That's even worse!!"

"Sammy, it's not that bad." Dean reassured, rubbing his little brother's back gently. "You're going to get all gross and spotty for a few days but then it will go away."

Sam sniffed, rubbing his nose on the back of his hand. "How do you know?" He asked, looking up at his brother with glassy eyes.

"I've had the chicken pox before. The year you were born." Dean explained, remembering all too well the irritation the disease had caused him. It had been a large scale pain in the ass but not as bad as some of the other things he'd experienced in life.

Sam sniffed again, his shoulders hitching a little. "So I'm not going to die?"

Dean smiled and shook his head. "No, Sammy. You're not going to die."

"Promise?"

"Yeah, I promise. I'm not going to let you die."

Sam nodded, obviously relieved and sat back. He rested his head against Dean's shoulder and wiped his eyes again. "My head hurts…" He mumbled, the effort of the outburst taking its toll on him.

Dean nodded and ran a hand through his little brother's hair. "I know. You probably have a fever." He said though he could feel it against his shoulder already. "Dad will be here soon."

No sooner had the words left his mouth, their father appeared in the doorway. He took one look at his youngest son and smiled sympathetically. "Ahh, Sammy." He said, walking over and scooping the boy into his arms. He waited until Sam had found a comfortable spot and then turned, ruffling Dean's hair softly. "Come on boys, let's go home."

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**Woot!! Much more brotherly fluff to come in the following chapters :D So was it okay? Should I trash it?? Let me know!!**


	2. Sock Puppets

**Hello all!! Good lord, I'm so sorry it took me so long to update this story!! This has been the first day I've had off all week so I was finally able to sit down and type out this chapter O.o Okay, so anyway most of the ret of this story is based off of true events from the six year old I babysit. He got the chicken pox last year and we actually did have to tape his hands up so he wouldn't scratch, hehe. Also, I know John will probably seem a little OOC in this chapter but I figured since the boys were still little and Sam is sick he'd kinda take it easy on them. Hopefully its not too far out :D Hope you like it!!**

**P.S. I own nothing!! I'm super broke :(**

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The ride back to the hotel was quiet for the most part, Sam sitting in the back seat with Dean sitting in the front next to their father. A few billboards passed by the window and occasionally Sam would try to read the large words scrawled across them. He was very smart for his age and could read relatively well but he still had some problems with some of the bigger words.

"Pedi-tricks." He mumbled from the back seat, scratching his arm absently.

"What?" Dean raised an eyebrow and glanced to the back seat.

"Pedi-tricks." Sam repeated, his hand moving to the side of his neck to scratch at another patch of tiny red spots.

"What the hell is "pedi-tricks"?" Dean asked, shaking his head a slightly at his little brother's insistence.

"Language, Dean." John warned, glancing at his eldest son from the corner of his eye. "Where did you see it, Sammy?" He asked, looking in the rear view mirror to the five year old.

"It was on a sign back there. It said Pedi-tricks medicine and there was a little girl holding a teddy bear." Sam answered, indicating the window with one hand and scratching his neck again with the other.

John laughed softly. "Pediatrics." He corrected, pulling to a stop in front of a red light. "They're the doctors that take care of little kids like you and Dean."

"I'm not little." Dean challenged, sitting up a little straighter so it made him seem taller.

"You're under ten. You're little." His father responded, smirking a little as his son seemed to deflate a little at that logic. He glanced back at Sam again. "Don't scratch, Sam. You'll just make it worse."

Sam nodded and sat still for a grand total of about thirty seconds before he began scratching again.

"Sam." John said from the front seat, giving his youngest his best "stern father" look through the rear view mirror. "That's an order."

"But it itches." The little boy whined, dropping his hands into his lap and looking at his father helplessly.

"I know it does but if you keep scratching your going to make it a lot worse."

Sam sighed dramatically and fell back against the seat, looking out the window again. He wished he could be back at school; they were going to get to paint this afternoon and he couldn't do it! It wasn't fair…or as Dean usually said when their dad wasn't around, "it sucks." He let out a slow breath again, a dull headache beginning to form behind his eyes. He felt really hot even though it was still cold outside. Cold enough to wear the big, zip-up jacket Dean let him borrow. He shifted a little in the jacket, the silky material inside making his arms itch worse. He hated the Chicken Pox…

The car pulled into the parking lot of the hotel they were staying in and slowed to a stop outside one of the green painted door. John dropped the keys into his pocket and opened the door, watching as the passenger door opened as well. Dean climbed out, tossing his back pack over one shoulder, and few seconds later, Sam emerged as well. Once everyone and everything was out of the car that needed to be, John herded them to the front door and pushed it open, letting them walk into the still clean room. They hadn't been here long enough to completely destroy the room like they normally did and with the boys still being so young they didn't have that many clothes to work with anyway.

Dean walked to the other side of the room and dropped his back pack onto the rumpled bed sheets, sitting on the edge of the bed and watching as Sam started toward him to do the same.

"Nope." John said, snagging the five year old under the arms and tossing him onto one shoulder. "Let me look at you first." Sam hung over his shoulder like a limp pillow case, unable to do much of anything under his father's iron grip. John walked to the designated "living room" portion of their room and dropped Sam on the couch, crouching in front of him and looking at his face. The little red spots had freckled Sam's face all over, creeping through his hair and down the sides of his neck. His eyes were glassy and faint tinge of red beneath the spots had stained his cheek bones. He definitely had a fever. "Alright kiddo," John said, standing and rummaging around in his back for a second. He retrieved a bottle of children's pain reliever and dropped two into his hand. A half-full bottle of water sat on the table next to Sam so he grabbed it and handed the pills to him. "Take this, alright?"

Sam nodded and obediently did as he was told. He didn't like taking pills but if his dad said so there must be a reason. He took a big drink of water and swallowed the pills, sticking out his tongue once he was done to prove that they were gone.

"Good boy." John stood and looked back toward the door. He was reluctant to leave, especially with Sam being sick, but that poltergeist needed to be dealt with as soon as possible before it got any stronger. He sighed and walked over to Dean, stopping in front of him. "Alright Dean, I need to go take care of something. Think you can take care of your brother until I get back?"

Dean nodded and glanced to Sam still sitting on the couch. "Sure."

"That's my boy." His father offered him a small smile and patted him on the shoulder. "Just make sure his fever doesn't get too high and try to make him go to sleep if you can." John glanced at his watch and thought for a few minutes. "I should be back later this evening. Make sure to lock the doors and don't answer the phone. You remember what I told you about when I call?"

Dean nodded again. "Yes sir. You said you'd call once, hang up, and then call again."

John smiled. "There you go." He squeezed his older son's arm briefly and walked to the door, Dean following him closely. "Mind your brother, Sammy." He said as he passed, pressing a kiss to the top of the younger boy's head before disappearing through the front door.

Dean locked the door behind his father and waited until he was sure he'd pulled away before going to sit back down. He switched on the TV and sat next to Sam, propping his feet on the table the way his dad did late at night. A few minutes passed in silence as he flipped through the channels, trying to find something on at this time of day, before he noticed Sam fidgeting next to him.

Sam had shed the big jacket and was busily scratching at his arms through his sleeves.

"Dad said not to scratch Sammy." Dean reminded him, grabbing one of his brother's hands and pushing it back onto the couch.

Sam sat still for a few minutes but the itching was driving him crazy. Finally, he couldn't take it anymore and began scratching again.

"Sammy." Dean warned, eyeing his little brother carefully.

The younger boy sighed in frustration and dropped his hands. "I can't help it!" He cried, sandy hair falling across his eyes. "It itches so bad!" A few spots on the backs of his hands had been scratched so hard they were bleeding but Sam barely seemed to notice.

Dean sighed after a second and looked over to his bag tucked against the wall. He got up and walked over to it, digging around in the pockets for a minute before coming back to the couch and sitting down. A roll of duct tape sat on the table next to the bottle of water and he grabbed that as well, pulling the sticky material away from the roll. "Give me your hands." He said, holding one hand out to Sam.

Sam looked at him oddly for a second before he placed his hand in Dean's. Before he could react, Dean shoved a sock over his hand and duct taped it around his wrists, not tight enough to cut off circulation but enough so that it wouldn't move. Sam's eyes widened. "What the-?!" He started but never got a chance to finish as Dean grabbed his other hand and repeated the action. Within a few seconds, both of Sam's hands were securely taped into the socks. Needless to say, Sam wasn't too happy. "Ew! Dean! I don't want my hands to smell like your feet!" He cried, trying unsuccessfully to get the socks off.

Dean shook his head. "They're clean, Sam." He sighed, dropping the duct tape back onto the table. "Now if your scratch yourself it won't start to bleed." He explained as his little brother still fought with the cotton and duct tape bindings.

After a few minutes Sam gave up and fell back against the couch, his hands falling uselessly into his lap. He glared down at them and pouted. "They look stupid." He grumbled irritably, flexing his fingers beneath the cotton.

Dean shrugged, not taking the comment too personally. Sam tended to get a little bitchy when he was sick. "Well, think of them as sock puppets then." He suggested, looking back at the TV as the commercial break ended. They were watching some kind of talk show where the people screamed and cursed at each other more than they actually spoke. Dean loved these shows because he got to learn a bunch of new words when his father wasn't around to supervise the kind of television they watched.

Sam looked back down at his socked hands and began wiggling his fingers experimentally to test his older brother's suggestion. "Can they be dinosaur sock puppets?" He asked, looking at Dean hopefully.

The older boy raised an eyebrow for a second before nodding. "Yeah, sure. They can be dinosaurs I guess."

"Will you drawn it?"

"Sam…" Dean sighed, rolling his eyes in an over-exaggerated manner.

"Please?"

With another sigh, Dean grabbed a renegade permanent marker from the table and quickly sketched two eyes and several rows of sharp, pointed teeth on each of Sam's socked hands. "There," He said once the socks looked like off-white dinosaurs. "Better?"

Sam giggled and nodded, opening and closing his hand a few times so it looked like the dinosaur was opening it's mouth. He made a soft growling noise in the back of his throat and seemed completely entertained with the make-shift creatures.

Dean suppressed a smile and turned back to the TV. If that's what kept Sam's mind off of being sick then he was glad to do it. However, he was suddenly aware of why he hated Muppets again.

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**Hehe, hope you liked it!! It will get extremely messy from here on out (an I mean that literally) See you soon!! :D**


	3. Oatmeal Soup

**Yay!! More fluff!! Hehe, I told you it gets messy form here on out right?? :D**

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Sam shifted uncomfortably on the couch, rubbing his arms and legs briskly with his socked hands. He made a soft whimper-like noise in the back of his throat and shifted again, pressing his back hard against the arm of the couch.

"What are you doing?" Dean asked, eyeing his brother curiously. Sam looked like he was having a severe case of cabin fever and was getting ready to jump out of his skin.

"Ngh…It itches…" Sam groaned, scrubbing at his face with the socks. He groaned dramatically and let his head fall back. "Ugh!! I hate Chicken Pox!!" He exclaimed, scratching his neck and chest irritably.

Dean let out a soft sigh and straightened a little. Obviously Sesame Street was doing very little to take Sam's mind off the itchy red bumps that covered his body. He frowned for a second, thinking back to when he had chicken pox. There was something his mother had done for him when he was sick but he couldn't quite remember what it was…

Sam groaned again and scratched his arms. The little bumps were everywhere now and itched like crazy but it seemed no matted how much he scratched, they just itched more. It was annoying and frustrating at the same time and Sam had had just about enough of the disease; he was ready for it to be over.

Without a word, Dean stood suddenly and walked into the bathroom, turning on the faucets in the shower and adjusting the water. He dropped the plug into the bottom of the bathtub and walked back into the other room, meeting Sam's puzzled gaze. "Take off your clothes."

"What?" The younger boy asked, pausing in mid-scratch.

Dean rolled his eyes a little. "Warm water helps with some of the itching." He said, quoting what his mother had said to him when he'd had the disease.

Sam hesitated for a second, watching his older brother carefully for any sort of trick. Dean could have a pretty mean sense of humor sometimes and had once told his three year old little brother that dead leaves in the park were actually camouflage fairies and if he stepped on any of them he would kill them. Unfortunately, it was the middle of fall and dead leaves littered the entire lawn so Sam stayed in one place for nearly an hour and half until he fell asleep sitting up. After that, he was never sure when Dean was messing with him or not.

Realizing what his brother was thinking, Dean sighed and shook his head. "Sam, I'm serious. It really will help."

Finally, Sam nodded and stood, walking into the bathroom and pulling off his shirt. At least he tried to. The socks still fastened around his hands made the process of getting undressed a little more difficult. Eventually, after requiring Dean's assistance, Sam had stripped down to his Spiderman boxers and stood staring at the water.

"It's not going to bite, Sammy." Dean teased, unwrapping the duct tape from Sam's hands and dropping the socks into the sink.

The younger boy shrugged and got into the tub, sitting down in the warm water with a sigh. Almost immediately, the itching began to subside and Sam pulled his knees to his chest, resting his chin on them. Dean stood and walked into the other room, rummaging around through the cabinets for something. There was one other thing his mother had done to the bath water and now he just had to find it. A box of instant oatmeal packets was tucked against the back wall of the cabinet and he grabbed it, fishing out the last two packets. Their father had bought it for them because it was a simple "add hot water" kind of thing but it tasted like cardboard so neither boy was very fond of it. "Well I'm not going to eat it." Dean muttered, walking back into the bathroom.

Sam looked up at him in confusion as Dean opened one of the packets and dumped it into the water. "What are you doing?" He asked, watching as the water began to turn a milky gray color.

Dean opened the second packet and dumped it in as well, tossing the trash into a small waste basket under the sink. "When I had the Chicken Pox, mom did this for me. The oatmeal is supposed to take care of the itching." He explained, sitting against the wall.

Sam made a slight face and swirled his hand through the mushy bath accessories. "It looks like soup…" He mumbled, oatmeal sliding between his fingers.

"Just don't eat it." Dean teased, laughing as Sam made another face.

"Eww…that's gross…" Sam giggled, scooping another handful of the oatmeal into his hands and watching as it plopped back into the water through his fingers. It was working though, already the itching had almost completely stopped and the little red spots didn't seem quite as menacing. For several minutes, Sam was content to sit in the tub and play with the goopy mixture, running it in and out of his hands and swirling it around in the water. The entire bathroom smelled like oatmeal and the water had turned a cloudy brown before it was all over.

"Ready to get out?" Dean asked, standing and grabbing a towel from the rack beside him.

Sam shrugged one spotted shoulder and nodded, standing and accepting the towel Dean offered him. He dried himself off, the coarse fabric of the towel making his spots begin to itch again slightly. He ignored it and stepped out of the tub, gazing back at the soupy water. "Is that going to drain?" He asked, the idea suddenly occurring to him.

Dean paused, he hadn't thought of that. "Sure." He lied, flipping the plug out of the bottom of the tub and watching as the water slowly swirled toward the drain. The drain made a harsh sucking sound, choking on the thick contents of the water. Slowly, the water receded, leaving nothing but a thick, mushy trail of oatmeal leading to the drain. He looked at Sam and shrugged a little. "I knew there had to be a better use for oatmeal somehow."

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**Hehe, okay the oatmeal thing works but you're supposed to put it panty hose or something to keep it from getting everywhere. Too bad the boys didn't know :D More fun stuff to come!!**


	4. Connect the Dots

**Hello everyone!! I didn't forget about this story, not to worry!! I had planned to upload this chapter Sunday night but the login screen was all screwy so I couldn't do it. And then to make matter worse, my computer ate the chapter before I could save everything so I had to re-type it O.o *le sigh* Oh well, hope you like it!!**

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The hours passed by slowly, the repetition of daytime television being the only thing that filled the void of the afternoon. The sun was beginning to set outside, long shadows falling over the window curtains and streaking across the floor.

Sam shifted, crossing his arms over his chest for a few seconds only to uncross them soon after. He was restless, cranky, and achy because of the low grade fever he was still running. Worst of all, the itchiness had returned a few hours ago and there was very little he could do to remedy the problem because Dean kept stopping him at every opprotunity. He wanted the chicken pox to be over; they were becoming a nuisance. Sam sighed loudly, scrubbing at his face briefly just before Deran looked over.

"What's the matter?" Dean asked, regarding his little brother with barely controlled irritation. Dealing with a cranky, sick Sammy was never fun.

"Nothing." Sam replied, his hands falling to the side in frustration.

"Sam." Dean could tell something was bothering him and the sooner he let it out the better.

"I hate the chicken pox..." The younger boy said after a minute, falling back against the couch to emphasize his point. "The spots itch and I look goofy..." He continued, the irritability building as he spoke.

"Yeah, well you always look pretty goofy." Dean smirked, nudging Sam's shoulder softly. His attempt at humor was met with a huff and a pout so pitiful that it could have only come from a five year old. With a soft sigh, Dean grabbed a permanent marker from the table in front of him and popped the top off. He snagged one of Sam's arms and began tracing jagged, sharp lines; connecting each line to a tiny red spot.

Sam watched silently for a few seconds before curiosity got the better of him. "What are you doing?" He asked as Dean connected a pointy line to the end of another one.

"I'm connecting the dots." Dean answered simply, adding a few more lines as he spoke.

Convinced that his older brother was teasing him in some way, Sam became defensive and tried to pull his arm away. "Dean..." He whined, struggling uselessly to pull his arm out of his brother's grasp. When it didn't work, he simply gave up and sighed theatrically, falling back against the couch.

Dean laughed at his little brother's dramatic behavior and kept drawing. "Oh come on, Sammy. It's not that bad."

Sam's frown deepened and he shook his head. "Yeah it is. You're making fun of me..." He grumbled, trying to force certainty in his voice but not accomplishing much.

Dean just shook his head in response and kept drawing. "Nah, I'm giving you a tattoo." He finished a line and held up Sam's arm. "See? It's a spider." Among the connected spots, a small, long-legged spider had appeared and was now crawling up Sam's arm.

The younger boy sat up a little straighter, looking at the drawing carefully. After a second of contemplation, he giggled. "It looks weird..." He grinned and looked up at his big brother. "Can you draw a lizard?"

Dean smiled a little and nodded. "Sure, I can try." He picked up the marker again and began connecting a few more of the scattered spots on Sam's other arm, forming a large gecko-like lizard with red spots traveling down its body. Before long, both of Sam's arms, legs, feet and hands were covered in every kind of insect, arachnid, serpent, and any other kind of design the two happened to think up. Sam was literally covered in permanent marker. He tried a few times to draw something on Dean but the lack of connecting spots made it difficult to keep his lines straight and most of his artistic attempts ended up looking like blots of ink.

The trick had worked though and Sam forgot about the spots almost entirely. Nearly an hour passed and eventually they had both run out of ideas of what to draw and where. It was dark outside now, a few cars pulling into the parking lot outside their window. Occasionally Dean would get up and walk to the window, peeking outside to see if their father was back but never met with the familiar sight of the Impala. On the last trip, he returned to the couch and sat down next to Sam, flipping through the channels absently. Beside him, Sam yawned noticably, his body finally deciding to shut down for the day.

"Why don't you go lay down?" Dean suggested, noticing how his little brother's eyes would close and then open again abruptly.

Sam shook his head slowly, yawning behind his snake-covered hand. "Not tired..." He mumbled, his words stumbling together.

"Sure." Dean smirked a little and grabbed a discarded couch cushion, pushing it toward the younger boy. Sam may not want to admit it but he was falling asleep one way or another.

With little more invitation than that, the little boy collapsed to the side, landing sideways on the pillow. He struggled to stay awake for about five more minutes before sleep finally claimed him for the evening.

Dean watched as Sam lost his battle against fatigue and smiled a little. _Stubborn to the end_, he thought, turning his attention back to the TV. One other thought crossed his mind and he shuddered internally. _Dad's going to be pissed when he sees the bathroom..._

**Hehe, connecting the dots is always fun :D Sorry it was so short but hopefully you liked it!! Final chapter up next!! See you then!!**

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	5. Explanations?

**Aww I'm so sorry it took me so long to update this!! *bow* I hope you like it though!! Super-dad John away!!**

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It was a little past 8:30 when two quick knocks followed by a single a few seconds later sounded outside the door. Dean was on his feet almost instantly, walking over to the door and unlocking the double bolts. He moved mechanically, his body still and slow from the light sleep he'd fallen into a little while earlier. Sam had been asleep for a few hours now and Dean had finally started to doze off only to be jolted awake by the knocking.

Dean opened the door, stifling a yawn as his father walked into the small living room. "Hey dad." He greeted tiredly, closing the door behind him.

John smiled down at his son, ruffling his hair as he passed. He could see the lingering sleep clouding the boy's face and could relate the feeling. Tonight's case had completely worn him out and the idea of sleep sounded extremely appealing at the moment. However, something caught his eye just as he walked into the living room of the motel and he stopped. "Dean?"

"Yes sir?"

"Why is your brother covered in permanent marker?"

Dean shrugged one shoulder, glancing at Sam still sleeping on the couch. "We got bored and played connect the dots."

It took a minute before John was able to form any kind of response. Part of him was irritated with his youngest son being covered in ink and the other part was somewhat amused by the idea. Finally, a smirk tugged at one corner of his mouth and he laughed softly. "Of course you were." He said, popping his neck as he spoke. He let out a long sigh; sleep was all he really wanted right now but it didn't seem like it was going to come anytime soon.

"Have you eaten yet?" John asked, looking back to where Dean was still standing.

His oldest son shook his head slowly, stifling a yawn. "No, Sam fell asleep and I wasn't really that hungry."

John smiled a little and nodded. "Okay, well go take a shower and gets changed for bed and I'll fix us something for dinner. Sound okay?"

Dean nodded obediently and crossed to room to his bag, ruffling around through the layers of clothes to pull out a clean set. He gathered a few other essentials like his toothbrush and toothpaste and walked to the bathroom, closing the door softly behind him.

John waited until he could hear water running before walking over to the couch were Sam still slept. He sat on one side of the couch and scooped his youngest son into his lap, scanning the dark, temporary tattoos that were scrawled across his arms and neck.

Sam squirmed a little, blinking slowly as he woke up. He looked up at his father and shifted again to get into a better position. "Hi dad…" He yawned, scrubbing at his face with one hand.

John smiled back down at him. "Hey kiddo, how you feelin'?"

"Itchy."

"Yeah, well that'll pass in a day or two." John smirked and nodded a spider that was attempting to crawl up Sam's neck. "Looks like Dean gave you a couple of tattoos."

"Mmhmm…" Sam yawned again, leaning against his father's shoulder. "I tried to draw some but they didn't look good…"

John laughed softly. "Call it modern art." He said, retrieving a bottle of rubbing alcohol from his bag on the ground. He managed to find a washcloth in the top of his bag as well and doused it with the alcohol, squeezing the excess back into the bottle. "Close your eyes Sammy."

Sam obeyed and squeezed his eyes closed as his father began to gently scrub the marker off his face. The creatures on the rest of his body could wait until the next day but John wanted to prevent the staining from setting in too deeply on the boy's face. After the majority of the marker had been removed, he dropped the washcloth onto the table and stood, cradling Sam in his arms. "Alright short stuff, bed time."

John walked over to the nearest bed and pulled back the blankets, gently depositing Sam onto the bed. "Try to go back to sleep, Sammy." He said, pulling the blankets up around the little boy's shoulders.

Sam squirmed and wiggled until he found a comfortable position and then sighed, another round of sleep close behind the previous one. He smiled tiredly at his father and nodded. "'K. Night dad."

"Goodnight son." A soft kiss was pressed to his son's forehead and then John turned away, walking back to the couch and slumping backwards in fatigue. He closed his eyes, hands covering his face for a second. God, it had been a long night… Still, he was happy with the outcome of the case and the fact that it was all over. He had been slightly worried about leaving Dean and Sam alone for too long, having never left them without someone close enough to offer assistance if need be. Usually, a fellow hunter or old friend was only a few miles away from where they were currently located but this town was different; the nearest acquaintance was about thirty-five miles away. Still, Dean had shown a great amount of responsibility while caring for his brother while he was gone and he couldn't have been more proud.

Just then, Dean poked his head out of the bathroom, shirt removed but pants still on. "Dad…?"

"What's wrong, Dean?"

"I can't take a shower. There's too much oatmeal in the bottom of the tub…"

John sighed slowly. He wasn't sure he even wanted the explanation for this. Well, on the bright side he didn't have to worry about Dean ever having to look after Sam with the chicken pox again.

* * *

**Well, that's it for this story!! Thank you all so much for your reviews and for sticking with me!! Loves!! -Layla**


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